


Alchemy's Mixed Results

by Lizlow



Category: Code: Realize, Code: Realize ~Guardian of Rebirth~
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlow/pseuds/Lizlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles/oneshots from my Victor Frankenstein roleplay blog; various time lines and AUs<br/>Headcanons will be contained in here, as it is from the blog</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "I'm not a Doctor..."

He held her hand; she held his heart. Her smile warms him, motivates him, overjoys him. Fran would always love her, no matter what her fate leads her to. If she becomes a monster, he’ll save her. Everything she has to offer means so much to him. The others all support them understand them, and Fran isn’t sure on how he should process it all. He _is_ weak, sure, but he _is_ also strong with her, for her, because of her. It’s time, positive reinforcement, protection, balance, support that fuels him. This is what it _means_ to **love**.

Fran waits; he’s hesitant, but she wishes, she _needs_. She’ll die if he doesn’t do something, if _they_ don’t do something. _Everyone_ will. The Queen stands in his way, but he can’t falter. The idea of this ever atoning for what he has caused is blasphemy. That would never deter him from making the attempt. Renewal, survival, beginning. She is his turning point, the most _precious_ one in his life, his true love.

He swore to cure her, to relinquish her pain and release her. The poison coursing through her very veins pulsates, the irregularity enough to allow him to directly comfort her.

“You don’t need to ask whether you’re allowed to love me or not. I want to save you, and live by your side. That’s my only wish,” Fran whispers to her gently. She’s crying and so is he. The outcome is unclear, but one thing remains: they have to survive.

They take flight to end Queen Victoria’s plans before they can damage the world. A huge mistake is brewing, and Victor is well aware of the burden it tolls. He has no doubts the Queen is ready to perish for the fate of her country, and no doubts Leonhardt would die for her. It is as he is with Cardia – he’d protect her or _die_ trying, if it meant she could remain. Was this selfless – or selfish? One thing is certain – Cardia _can’t_ die an untimely death.

“No matter what, Cardia. I won’t give up.”  


He combats, will and her alone driving him to make peace with his conditions. He is determined to fight in his own way, standing up to Leonhardt’s sword until the flat of the blade knocks the wind out of him. And yet, he still stands to defend Cardia. His back was to the Queen, to all of London, but he is doing all he can for the final integrity of it. It warms Cardia’s heart, and tightens as well. She can’t stand it. Her body, breaking down, releasing this poison that would surely, ultimately, be the demise of Fran. She _didn’t_ want to _kill_ him, promise or not. She wants to live with him with every fiber of her being, but she can no longer hold on. Strength leaves her, but she can still manage a grip, a glare, her own sort of bark.

“Kill him.” She hears the order and she doesn’t want to. She would shield him if she had to do. To her, it’s the least she can do for the man she loves. Fran sees that resolve in her eyes, and gives her the harshest stare he can muster.

The blade came at the force of a hurricane. Deep into his leg, and another extra slash at his side. And patch couldn’t be applied when the time is nigh, so Fran grits his teeth and fights through it.

Seconds, mere moments pass and the battle between them is over, but the race for Cardia’s life hasn’t run its course yet. He’ll have an antidote done soon, he promises. So many promises that the good man wants to keep. He can do it too. He _has_ to.

Blades fell, a dagger digs through her core by her own hands, mere seconds away from his completion. He screams. He was so close, and yet was it all in vain? Imminent doom avoided, but Fran places that behind him. All that matters to comforting Cardia. He can treat her, so he moves to do that, but she moves her head to his lap and takes his hand, denying him the effort and ability to do what he wants to.

“Cardiaaaa!” His voice is powerful, pangs of despair, remorse, _horror_ coupling it. Time, for her, runs out at the strike of midnight.                                                                                                       

* * *

 

Fran can hardly walk, let alone stand. He _is_ the medic in within the group, and being the one incapacitated could prove to be an issue. Nothing matters though. He tells himself that he has to keep going. The Queen is safe, Leonhardt assures them all of that. London is safe, _their_ friends are safe, but she’s sleeping, eternally. The least he can do is give her the proper burial, but he can hardly think. Her body weighs him down, but feels like it’s floating at the same time. There’s nothing more he can do as he drags his wounded self back toward Lupin and the others.

He stumbles, doing all he can do to prevent his weight from collapsing onto her; he’s choking on his words, on his breath, his sobs.

“I’m no doctor, but you should have that looked at. It’s bleeding a lot…”

Lupin’s words fade out when he fully registers the severity of the situation. The dagger in her chest, the deep red staining his clothes, still fresh, still _bleeding_. His words are as kind and concerned as the world meant them to be.

“I know.” Fran answers him, “And I will in just a moment… please, just… Why..?” His words turn to mumbles, delusion settles in. That was right. He couldn’t save her, the woman he loved. All of the rest of London was safe, and yet she had to be sacrificed. How was that fair? The turmoil, the fear, the pain, they were to face their sins alongside each other.

Fran’s cries fill the room as the others let him get it out, quietly discussing and _trying_ to rush him to better medical attention than he can provide himself. His wounds, worse than he thought, settle themselves in; and time ticks loudly for him. In his shaking, his glasses fall to the ground; they probably would have been found in a shattered state, but Fran can’t manage to pay attention to it. His attention is on her, the fallen that lays before him, peaceful, _painfully beautiful_. She hadn’t needed to die; he had finally reached a solution.

“Cardia, I’m sorry.” Even his voice is hazy. The others are trying to get Fran to move, trying to grasp the details, the pain of seeing _her_ _down_ welling over them in their own ways. Her smile would be missed.

He buries his face against her, as if anything of the sort would revive her, as if what had been moving her wasn’t broken. There has to be a fix, Fran believes, he _hopes_ it so. Impey offers to carry their princess to somewhere they can lay her to rest. Fran can’t listen, his crying, the only thing is able to say is, “Cardia!”

Lupin tries to pull Fran away. He needs something to bring him back, but the way he was trembling, the amount of blood that was pooling from the wounds he has sustained. This was why Lupin _hated_ fighting violently. This was always a possibility. Injury, anger, sadness, loss. Fran can barely here anything anymore. The only thing distracting him from his pain are his tears. Had it been only minor wounds, he would have been rational, but swords cut deeper than any of them would have placed for this time.

Drowsiness resides within him now. It’s all too much to bear and sleep sounds inviting. Perhaps if he closes his eyes he can reopen them to awaken from this cruel dream. When he stirs again, she’ll be smiling at him with that _gorgeous_ smile of hers, and they can live happy, peaceful days alongside each other, mending what remains to be repaired. It embraces him, and he can’t ignore its draw. He doesn’t want to. It’s so close to him; she’s so close to him. He can see her, apologize for not being that much quicker, apologize for not being able to cure her like he said he would. Then he could tell her about how London was fine, that the others were waiting for them, that they could go on and be _together_.

His eyes shut as he stays against her. Nothing more anyone could do, _can do_ – the poor alchemist, young, _fragmented mentally_ ; blood-loss has riveted his seams apart as the others tried to at least stop the bleeding of the wound. Everyone has their own plans after this, but it is difficult for even them to speak as the brown haired male broke down and ceased. They wonder if he would stumble and try to stand – none of them are idle, but the atmosphere freezes even the veterans. Heavy hearted, lips part and they can do is confirm to themselves, in a twinge of sadness, that their dear friends have left.

He cared for her, comforted her, _loved_ her, and he always would. Gentle, the charged, harmless soul.

Dreams take Victor to the warm abyss, chasing, fleeting to Cardia.

_ Cardia, I’m so sorry. When I wake up… we can be happy. No matter what, my only wish is to remain by your side. _


	2. "You're Alive!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fran is gross with Cardia. And I love it. Remember that as these things get posted.

Fran gasps as he feels a sharp pain. A wound, as sudden as it is deep, gashes him. With just a strong enough blast, he is able to free himself from the force that opposes him. He staggers back, the injury evident, bleeding – undeniably so – but it is not fatal, as far as Fran can tell. He really does hope so, at the very least. With any strength he has remaining, he’ll protect her; he doesn’t believe he can do as much as the others, and he still wishes to cure her poison, but if he must die, he will – so she can keep granting the world a wonderful thing with her smile.

“Thank you for your concern, Cardia. But please, be careful,” he whispers to her, taking a deep breath as he chokes back a shout from the intense pain he’s in. Once they are safe for the moment, he leans against her, blood staining her clothing as she gentle embraces him. Her presence, her confirmation of life is enough, and she, worriedly, asks him to tend to himself.

“Right…” Fran answers her with a gentle smile, but he’s sure he won’t perish from this, so he doesn’t want to risk anything, any section of _her_ life, any time that could be put toward _her_. Her stare is definitive, so he looks at her kindly and sits himself a little further from her, undercover, agreeing with the look he can’t deny. “Aha, Cardia. I know… You’re not hurt, are you?” Even in moments like these, when he had cried, fallen down, begged. Her smile is too good for him.

**“** I’m not,” leaves her lips.

“I’m glad” he needs to save his strength. He may not be on the brink of permanent dreaming, but this day gone wrong had still taken plenty out of him.

**“** Ah!” he hears her gasps as his eyelids drop and he falls asleep.

She watches over him, making sure his wound doesn’t hurt him, making sure she doesn’t leave him alone. When the other locate them, they all rush to safety.

Hours later, Fran’s eyes open and Cardia is looking down on him. The brief moment of graveness in her brown eyes shifts to relief, joy, caring as she parts her lips.

“You’re alive! Oh, thank God!”

Fran can manage a nod to her, his breathing much steadier as he wakes up and regains his energy. He won’t give up until he has finished helping her; he doesn’t want to leave the world with things left unfinished. 

“Thank goodness you are, Cardia.”


	3. Romantic Hug

Bliss truly is embraced when danger had passed. Turns, true love in the gentlest of forms. She escaped the pain of her poison, a flourishing life they could then live awaiting them. No matter what time threw at them, Fran swore and always swears to stay by Cardia’s side. His promise of curing her poison was one thing, but his vow of remaining with her through thick and thin is another; something, he will never give up.

“Cardia, I love you,” he says, smiling at her, rather sheepishly. A miracle… no, the miracle was her resolve, her never ending fight to the finish line. Victor never would have given up, but it was her smile, the thought of her being next to him, that was enough. And it will always be enough.

Cardia smiles at him, love fluttering through her, making her cheeks darken. She is precious to him, exuberance dances between the two as the relish in the fact that nothing could ruin this moment. The others had parted way not long ago, and adjusting to life alone together had taken time, but every morning that they awoke next each other meant a new beginning. They were fortunate, ungloved hands entangling, warmth, safety inviting.

“I love you too… Being close to you, makes me so happy…” Tears, but of pure joy, fall again. He moves his hands, carefully wiping her tears away, his bare fingers moving over her cheek with no reaction. Finally, after so much work, they receive a happy ending. They can help others, and they wish to. A family, perhaps, on the horizon, but regardless of what they choose, Victor is content. The weight of his sins, of hers, of the burdens they both shoulder together, remains but they work to make amends.

Sweetly, he draws her close, arms firmly but carefully wrapping around her waist. Her arms follow suit, wrapping around his neck, and they can feel each other’s worlds, from the other’s breathing to their heart beats. Fast, and then relaxed, all focus there, neither of them wanted to let go, to remove themselves. Eye contact, foreheads together, so close together.

A moment, silence mingles with the air until both realize how close they are, how not used to it they are. Victor releases her, embarrassed, enough to worry, enough to understand that she is too.

“Sorry, I…” they both begin, blushes evident on their cheeks. Cardia shifts her glance between him and elsewhere, before she moved closer to him again, and pecks his cheek.

“I really am happy.”


	4. "No, you're wonderful."

With a sigh, Fran looks over everything before him. Notes that Lupin had retried, questions, everything. He wants to do all he can to assist those that live alongside him. Though he feels as though he can’t do enough, especially compared to the aforementioned gentleman thief, or Van, or Saint… but he will do what he can. His mind, his focus, falls upon the owner of the mansion they reside in.

A generous man with a sense of whimsy, Fran can’t place why Saint would allow a known criminal, a wanted man who had been called a terrorist, as well as…­ _Impey_ in his home, but Saint had and Fran really appreciates it, among all the other things Saint had done for them.

“Saint really is wonderful.”

The words leave Fran naturally. Praise for others… ah, but he really did believe in it, in full. Fran says still for mere seconds, letting silence collects as he is determined to continue making things right. He’s made a lot of mistakes, but he’s giving it his all.

“No, you’re wonderful.”

Fran hears these words behind him, as turns around to face their speaker – Saint. It is almost as if he said it as though it was the most obvious thing, as if Fran’s own statement of praise needed to be discounted, like there had been some lie upon it. How Fran’s word could have been a lie, Fran didn’t know.

What Saint holds in his hands are blankets, invitations to take a rest. There’s something that bites at Fran, like ending his work now would be too soon. He had already figured out an improved formula for… but, Fran supposes that there’s no stopping how _considerate_ Saint is.

Really, everyone in the house worked so much, putting their lives out there every single day. There were others Saint could granting his time to, and yet there he is, smiling his usual smile. Saint is unreadable for the alchemist, but his company is enjoyable. The air is always quite calm around Saint, his expression probably the most welcoming. The compliment back had been something that Fran found flustering, but Fran accepts it nonetheless.

“Saint, I really do think you are so.” Fran says, smiling. He couldn’t understand some of Saint’s choices, so there _had_ to be something going on, but it must have been for the best intentions. “I grateful to you, and I’m sure the others are as well.”

Saint’s response to this is a light chuckle and a shake of his head. In all honesty, Fran can’t deny his curiosity on the matter, but pressing Saint for details wasn’t easy, even for a question seeker like Fran. Perhaps he was too soft for the trial? 

Regardless, Fran fully believes in the group’s abilities to be able to do something for Cardia, for London, for the world. Maybe, just maybe it wouldn’t be what they had planned in this moment. Maybe it wouldn’t be anywhere near what they were expecting, but with Cardia’s appearance, in their hearts, their worlds, and this very room, Fran reevaluates his motives once again, new found determination already inspiring him. 

He is tired, certainly, but… 

Cardia calls for him and Saint smiles. 

“Now, would our friend be so inclined as to join us for tea?”

Accepting the offer, Fran takes a sleepy stand.

“Afterwards, please do rest.” 

Fran manages a nod, “And I will. Thank you, Saint.” 


	5. Here, lean on me

Hands shake, flasks tumble to the floor. Fran frowns, dissatisfied, but too weak to fix anything. Everything feels like putty, slipping away from him like dreams, shattered, broken, transformed into terrors. He breathes, trying to quell himself for one more moment, one fleeting moment of tranquility. Understanding and repairing, it all was quite tough on the grand scheme of life. Fran knows this, but if he wants to repay hospitality, trust, caring, then he has to do more than just sit there.

Gloved fingers scale, glide, cease at the point of reckoning. His fault, his fault… He stands, Push, save, recover, nothing is sensed around him but the collection of his thoughts, of his regrets. So much more…. So much more he could accomplish, but his pathetic self fled from it all.

When he finally stands, he nearly collapses again. Sometimes, it is difficult to face the others. He believes that many of their problems connect, and he places the blame on…

His thoughts are cut off by stirring about him. He credits it to a new morning. His breathes rises nervously with his chest, swirling, clinging, his door is met with a knock. No hesitation dances with it, Fran isn’t Lupin, nor the others. Recognizing knocking doesn’t come naturally, but the other one whoever truly knocks just so is Saint. He’s heard it enough, and its familiarity is enough to allow him to open the door.

In reality, Fran looks so much more disheveled than usual, his attempts at comforted others for the sake of them and not he powerful. Saint looks over Fran, notices his shaking, his legs failing him.

“Here, lean on me.”

Saint says this, well-meaning intended, displayed, he reaches out his hands to support the alchemist. He knows it’s needed. All-nighters, stress, coupled with the burden of time, Saint has had more time to reflect, regret, but for someone who life is taken, consumed, with nothing but the most powerful memory of _mistake_ and _failure._ Fran likely needs this help most of all, and Saint gladly provides. It’s only a little, but it can help a lot.

“Saint..? Ah, thank you,” Fran answers, adjusting his stance as Saint takes on the shelving of his weight. Smile, Fran forces anxious laughter, “I apologize for worrying you.”

With the charges of playing a hand in bringing these people together, Saint knows that they each have their own histories, memories. He cannot do much to truly take on the intensity of the affliction Fran sees within himself, but he can be there. Yes, he can be there to allow Fran to have someone to lean on every once in a while. For someone like him, being able to confide, even silently, could lift away just one second of nightly encumbrance, just one mere minute of agony.

They all shoulder too much, much more than perhaps they let on, much more than Saint knows the exact details to, but he understands the signs, the looks, he’s seen it enough in his never-ending life time.

“It is not a moment of trouble. I’ll be here.”


	6. Librarian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Your hair is damp,” he said to Jane.  
> “It rained so, Father,” Jane explained, her eyes dancing.  
> “The chalk all melted away,” said Michael.  
> “Chalk?” said Mr. Banks, “What has chalk to do with Jane’s hair being damp?”  
> “It’s because we were in the drawing,” explained Jane, “We didn’t know it would rain.” [Mary Poppins, retold by Mary Carey, Pg 90-91]
> 
> That excerpt above is what this drabble is based off of.

Releasing a nervous laugh, Fran watches as Delly and Cardia adamantly enjoy themselves in the courtyard. Something good really had come out of that mixture he made, he concludes, and it allows the two to find some sort of entertainment amongst the stress they had been carrying.

A spectacular that Fran is happy to witness, somehow it rings a comfort to him, their drawings carefully lining the courtyard’s floors in vibrant colors.

“Fran, you really should join us!” Cardia beams. Sisi is barking, overjoyed as he shuffles between Cardia’s and Dellys legs, barking.

“I guess you can join us, maybe… Since you did give us this. Sisi might like it,” Delly said, glancing off and down at Sisi.

“Ah, no, it’s alright, Cardia, Delly. You have fun. I really should get back to work.”

Delly is above his own world; never had he thought in the past that he could have such fun with something so simple! Of course, he was only allowing small moments of this to come through. It all is for Sisi, honestly! He has to keep up appearances otherwise.

Fran excuses himself, at the promise of coming back in a little bit to join the two since it is almost always impossible to deny Cardia, especially with the look she provide his initial refusal at. There will be no retiring to his “study” this time.

Watching Fran walk away, Cardia pouts, before a nuzzling Sisi and a light tug of _‘you wanted this color, right?’_ brings her back to the drawings.

“Ah, yes! Thank you, Delly!” Cardia practically squeals. Her enthusiasm is unmatched by anyone except Delly. 

It’s a moment in time Fran is glad he caught a glimpse of, even under just the provision of the art supplies. He can hear their amusement behind him as he moves down the hall and opens his door. “Have fun, Cardia.”Fran whispers.

All the meanwhile, Cardia holds her color in her hands and proceeds to add life to one of Delly’s scribbles. Laughter, happiness, the two of them are playing with the innocent vigor of children. Clouds not met in the sky begin to form, but they are all too distracted, all too overwhelmed with the sheer level of hope mere drawing give them.

Pitter, patter falls the rain in short bursts, then it picks up in heavy forces. Cardia and Delly stay playing, unbeknownst to the effects the rain truly has put forth on their artistic progress. Pouting, dissatisfaction, and fighting, Delly scribbles more as they both become soaked, drenched, dowsed deeply in the rain’s chillingly cold embrace.

With grand timing, Van and Saint, rather… _enjoying_ a pleasant chat, walk past the courtyard under the cover of the arches, only to spot Delly and Cardia entertaining themselves even more by trying to combat the rain’s effects on their impermanent art materials. Van quickly moves, release a rather perplexed sigh, catching Delly by the shoulder as Cardia absent-mindedly walks right into Saint. When he had approached, none of them but Saint himself could have placed.

“Delacroix II.”

“Cardia-san, whatever is it that you and Delly are occupying yourself with.”

Delly frowns, “Oi, Van Helsing, don’t interrupt like that. We were merely playing with this tool your alchemist gave us.”

“Oh?” Van glances between them.

Saint chuckles, “And that has to do with Cardia-san being soaked like this? Playing the rain is rather dangerous. I’m sure the one who gave you this would say so as well.”

As if on cue, Fran sprints through the doors to the outside grasping towels, out of breath, “You don’t want to catch a cold!” He breathes. Van silently pulls Delly back inside, despite the protests. No matter what, there should be no sickness going about.

_“Saint, we were just playing,”_ Cardia says, lightly giggling, smiling, “Fran said he join us later, and you should too! Really, we didn’t know it would rain like this.”

Saint muses, looking at Cardia and then at Fran. _“_ Perhaps when the rain isn’t all too inviting us to illness, we’ll gather up the whole household and you can lead us, Cardia-san.”

Fran smiles, but he’s standing there in the rain. Saint notices this and with one move, grabs one of the towels and places it on Fran’s head. Delly calls, almost concerned with the others, but too stubborn to say anything more.

Sighing, but certainly glad he’s a part of this, a motivation in their entertainment, Fran walks beside them, inside. Oh, but he had to make more next time, really. _“_ Next time, Delly, Cardia, please do stop when it starts raining.”  


	7. Be Honest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is Fran gross? Why is Cardia gross? The world may never fully know.

He adores her. He can’t help it. From the way she smiles, to her bells of laughter, she was probably the sweetest woman in the world. His world, at the very least. Hard working, brave, welcoming, Cardia has been through so much, in so little time. As close to perfect imperfection as she can be, Fran really wouldn’t have her any other way.

His hand twitches; all he wants is to keep her hand in his, to feel her comfortable warmth beside him as they relax. Yet the words fail to leave him. He’s nervous. He simply loves her so much, as she feels the same for him. _Honest_ words linger on the tip of his tongue, fighting him.

He knows she is aware. She has to be. A dream yet to go sour, they still have much to do, so very much, until the end. As her gloved hands wrap around his arm, he freezes, flushes, his soul pulses. She has noticed his wish, he knows, and he can see and feel her thoughts, from what he believes he can, that is.

"Fran.” She whispers, clinging.

Fran looks at her, surprised but gently nonetheless. “Just stay close,” he says. Upon the realization of the relief that crosses and settles on her features, he too calms. If she’s happy, then so is he.

They understand each other, every last portion of their feelings. She, who could alongside him finally, lays next to him as they read a book. She leans against him, his arm around her as he holds the book in his hands. What they read never matters, but oftentimes they would fall asleep like this, resting after a long day of work. The book would make its way to the stand near the bed and the two would hold hands as they slept. Times like this are

Fran feels like he really just does not deserve her love, her presence, her being there, for _him_. Life is merciful, generous, forgiving, even when forgiveness need not be given out, especially to someone like _him_. His thinking far too… _him_ being far too… Ah, but she, this _amazing_ _human_ , hasn’t left, refuses to.

The look on her face as she helps him take care of recovering patients, children especially, is precious, priceless; her dedication as limitless as Fran knows her to have always possessed. Hesitation, is he much too taken by it? …No, never, it couldn’t be, since he is here. This life is real, not a dream, not a falsity he has to leave. And, even if it’s a dream, even if it’s a backlash from the poison he took in, he never wishes to wake from it. Everything is _okay_ , completely fine.

Cardia blinks, beryl hues softening, wondering, warming. She adjusts her position, squeezes his hand a bit more. She’s happy, simply overjoyed to be there beside him. She’s lucky, she feels, just as Fran thinks of his relationship with her.

His apprehension, the words he cannot say, she can almost hear them. Encouragement comes with being able to admit, to never doubt what they have. Honesty is always the best policy.

"Fran, be honest. It’s okay.”

“Cardia… I-” He stops himself, the words sticking in his throat. “…I believe we’ve done so much. Maybe it’s not enough, but we’re getting there.”

Cardia frowns, as if dissatisfied. She knows Fran means what he says, but there is more that he can say, that he’s still holding back, the words she _loves_ to hear, the reassurance, the promises, knowledge, hopes, dreams, tie them forever and ever.

"Be **honest** ,” She repeats, “Please, **Victor**?”

Every last worry, self-battle, fumbling, tumbling fear he has resolves. It’s embarrassing, nerve-wracking, but he is confident in this one thing above all else. The way she cares for others, smiling at children and softly speaking to the recovering, the way she makes sure everything is done to the very last letter, she is the best. The Alchemist, the scholar, the clinic owner, is still learning because of her and everything they have done. She’s just so important.

“Cardia… you’re the closest person to my heart. I love you.”


End file.
